A Simple Gift
by CreativeBobbles
Summary: Harry recieves his first gift every from Aunt Petunia on the day of her birthday, including some nail polish. It paves the way for a whole new Harry Potter to enter the wording world Warning: Pastel!Innocent!Feminine!Harry. Sorry if this isn't your cup of tea, but you've been warned.
1. A choice

Every so often, a choice is made that is grand enough to shake the very foundation of the careful future fate had planned. These choices are always small, infintismal things that would appear to have not hold any impact at all. To think such a world-shattering decision could be caused by such ordinary people is absurd. But it happens, rarely. And one such occasion of this rare occurrence would have an unprecedented effect on one little boy, and by definition, one huge, hidden world.

Petunia Dursley despised her birthday. A date that should've been a rather pleasant occasion had been soiled with memories of her vastly better sister and her special tricks that had won her their parents loved. She had managed to get over it, for the most part, but habits of her childhood stuck with her, such as her aversion of anything green or red, magic, and of course, her birthday.

But it seemed, however, that word had gotten out around the neighborhood about the upcoming event via Marge, Vernon's sister, and her. inability to keep her jaw shut. So, it was with a health dose of surprise that she woke up Tuesday morning and discovered a 5 dainty birthday bags sitting on her porch when she went to go check the mail.

It was a shock, that was for sure, but it was well received after her initial reaction of assuming the gifts were from that freak nephew of hers. Deeming the gifts safe, Petunia allowed a smile to cross her features and took the bags up to her shared room with an almost gleeful trepidation. Once within the confined safety of her bedroom, she sat the gifts down neatly on the bedspread and studied them.

The bags were all various pastel shades of blue, purple, pink, green and yellow, with various phrases such as 'It's your birthday!' and 'Let's celebrate!' written on them with blocks white letters. After that, a childish excitement built within her, and she eagerly opened the gifts the bags contained without bothering to check the tags to see who had gifted them. She squared down the inkling of guilt that arose from that action with promises to write letters or even have that freak nephew bake brownies or cake as a thank you.

Thirty minutes later, Petunia had opened all the gifts and sorted them into three separate piles of good, bad, and freakish, the last category being added upon the discovery of a box set of six different nail polishes with varying black and pale green shades.

In the good were various feminine items, like rose-sented body washes, hairspray that smelled of cotton candy, a red top that would compliment her figure, and a few shades of lightly colored lip balms.

In the bad, where shirts of a hideous shade that she wouldn't dare touch, things she had caught teens around the neighborhood wearing. Included, a pair of white vans with brightly colored donuts on it with pink icing and multi-colored sprinkles. In fact, the entire contents of the pastel purple bag had been added to the bad pile, and Petunia suspected that House number five's daughter had been responsible for it. With a disgruntled glare, Petunia added the chokers and piercings to the bad pile as well.

In the freakish pile, she had the aforementioned black and green nail polish, a rather girlish hoodie that was the same green as the nail polish, and a DIY dragonhide notebook.

After a few minutes of deliberation, Petunia gathered up the few items in the freak and bad pile and made her way downstairs. To this day, if you were to ask Petunia what had compelled her to give the strange gifts to her equally strange nephew, she would only shrug and change the topic, because the answer is simpe yet unsatisfying. She doesn't know, and would never know what drove her to give the boy such nice things.

But whether the decision was made by her or pre-written in the stars, Petunia marched herself downstairs and wenched open the door to the cupboard under the stairs, where her freakishly small six year old nephew sat up, staring at her with wide, confused eyes that still held a bit of innocence despite his cruel treatment.

Maybe it was that one dash of innocence that softened Petunias heart enough to finalise her decision, and with a huff, she dropped the bundle of stuff into the thin boys lap, ignoring his cry of pain as the nail polish landed first.

"There you go, boy. Don't ever say I never did anything for you. You have about an hour to enjoy that stuff before you need to start working on some brownies, you hear me? Or I'll take that stuff so fast you won't remember you had it."

Petunia walked away, heading back upstairs to begin her letters of thanks to her neighbors, while completely ignorant to the small boy that started down at the pile of gifts as if Santa himself had just handed them to him. Petunia would remain ignorant of the shift her decision had on the future. She briefly contemplated the consequences of her actions but wrote them off fairly quickly. How bad could it be? It was only a simple gift after all.


	2. A Reaction

Harry Potter was a very sad little boy. He was part of a family that refused to acknowledge his presence beyond a quick order or quick smack to the head for simply existing.

His life was one without care or light, as not a single person within it appeared to give a damn whether he was alive or dead. Sometimes, they would lock him in his cupboard and simple forget him for days on end, not of cruelty, but because his presence was so small it didn't warrant a passing thought.

While a little too young to be fully depressed, Harry was quite sad and teetering on the brink of heavy depression caused by constant neglect and loneliness. Life was dull around him, a constant blur he tried to block out for fear of what such negative thoughts would do to him.

Despite the conditions of his home, Harry held hope. There was an innocence in his haunting green eyes that was only begging to be let free, searching for an opportunity to allow him to be the child he was never given a chance to be.

He did not expect that chance to come in the form of two glass tubes of pale green and black nail polish. When Petunia had dumped the gifts on Harry's lap, he's been unable to do much else but stare in awe at the treasure trove that had just been gifted to him.

With an excited abandon, he quickly dug in, pulling out a rather lovely green hoodie that matched his eyes and the nail polish that he threw on right away. The hoodie was of course too big, meant for someone of Petunias height and frame, neither of which he matched as he was much smaller due to malnutrition.

The size, however, didn't deter him one bit and he, once covered in the soft green cloth, drew his arms around himself as he held the material close to his body, just enjoying the warmth that the garment provided. Next, he went through various other items, one such thing being two chokers of soft colors and one of which held a moon ornament. He set the other things he had received off to the side however, including his brand new shoes which had caused his stomach to growl with hunger upon site of them, and reached for the matching box set of nail polish.

This, was the gift he was most fascinated with, for reasons he didn't quite know at the moment, reasons he didn't expect to know until much later, and probably even later than then. But, whatever the excuse, Harry was ensured by the color. Of course, he knew what nail polish is, having seen ads for it on the TV through his cupboard, and new what it could do.

They were like portable paint buckets, and they held a sort of magic, that could transform something so plain into a work of art. At least, that's how he saw it. It was a splash of color that had been dropped into his oh-so-dull life at the very last moment, and Harry was utterly grateful for it. His life, once lacking color, was set to finally begin to shine, and it would all be thanks to two innocent bottles of nail polish.

With an childish grin, Harry set to this task of painting his nails, nose wrinkled at the acrid smell and cold touch of the polish on his inexperienced fingers. It was messy, as expected of a child, and no matter how hard Harry tried to keep his strokes smooth and even just like it was done on TV, dollops of green and black would still manage to stain onto his skin.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes of intial struggle, his nails were done in a childish fashion of alternating the colors between his nails.

Harry smiled to himself, admiring the way his fingers shone in the dim light of the hallway. His nails were so pretty, and he had done them on his own, so a since of pride welled within him rapidly, filling his spirits to the brim.

Somewhere, deep inside him, something had shifted. Had he not been so pre-occupied with his nails, he would've noted the small shift, but as chance has it, Harry was absolutely enamored with the new addition of color into his previously dull life.


	3. The Letter

**Harry's** life was nowhere near perfect, but it was as close as it was gonna get. He still lives with a neglectful family that didn't bother to spare him a glance on the best days, but he was happy. The New clothes and nail polish had managed to spark something inside of Harry that had been dull long after his parents had been killed, and once lit, the flame that fueled his fire was burning brightly inside of him.

Sure, he was made to do things no eleven year old child should have been doing, such as the cooking and gardening, but he didn't mind all that much. How could he, when he was allowed to make his own breakfast, anything he could dream off as long as he wasn't loud and didn't eat too much. He had also been set to earn his keep, so to say, outside of the house.

The neighbors had been paying Harry weekly to keep up their gardens, for Harry was well known for his green thumb that seemed to work magic. Plants adored him, getting brighter everytime he was near and blossoming in ways never before seen in an attempt to please him. It had scared the Dursleys at first, before Vernon realized he could get some money out of the boy. That plan, however, was soon put to a stop as the neighbors noted rather quickly that Harry was not spending said money, which had averaged up to about 100-150 pounds per week.

So, while still being made to cook and clean for the Dursleys, Harry was still allowed to prepare his own food, and sustain himself within the household. He had been moved from the cupboard to Dudley's second room when a Miss. Green from number seven had made a passing remark on how strangly messy Harry's room was.

Harry had been ecstatic when Petunia moved him from the cupboard, and had eagarly set to cleaning it out in order to begin making it his own. Old toys were fixed and either kept or donated, clothes were recycled or bagged and the entire room was swept, dusted, and mopped multiple times. The walls were scrubbed and repainted, and soon, the room began to resemble a place suitable for human life.

Dudley had of course thrown a for about loosing his trash room, but was hushed pretty quickly with promises from uncle Vernon to build a shed in the backyard where he would be able to discard his things. Harry had then, using the bit of money he had from the neighbors, brought some paint and began to truly decorate the space and make it his own.

Within months, the room had been transformed and looked nothing like the rest of the Dursley house. In fact, it at stuck out from the home as much as Harry did with the family. The walls were a mint green all around with a beige border around the tops and bottoms. It was the part of the room Harry was most proud of, as at seven years old, it wasn't easy to paint a wall without help, but he had somehow managed.

The bed, a spare mattress Vernon had managed to swindle off of the couple that had moved out of number nine to, was a single with a soft and plush covering. The blanket was varying shades of spotted green, with mint green as the base, and it came with three pillows of brown, white and pink with a white sheet and covering.

The furniture Harry had managed to find for the room was all a creamy shade of white that complimented the room wonderfully. There was a wardrobe pushed off to the upper right corner of the room, directly across from where Harry's bed lie. Under the window was a multipurpose desk that came with a stool type chair with a pink cushion instead of hard wood. For the floor, Harry had made a bunch of brown, white, and green cotton balls and tied them onto a large no slip rug before placing over the nasty grey wood.

Harry had the rest of the room decorated randomly. While he loved the plants he had made for everyone else's garden, Harry was most fascinated with succulents, and had a couple of his own in the bottom right corner of the room, away from the door. He had learned his lesson about keeping anything of value there after Dudley had barged in, demanding a few pounds, and shattered the vase he had handcrafted from school.

To say Harry was devestated was an understatement. He had shoved twenty pounds into Dudley's hand and shoved him from the room before dropping to his knees in horror to stare at the lavender shards that litered the plush floor. All traces of sadness where replaced when the vase shards shook, and then, as if in reverse, flew together and stuck as if they hadn't just been shattered.

Harry hadn't said anything about the incident, choosing not to look a gift horse in the mouth and had simply moved the vase and the cactus it contained to his desk.

He did, however, put a rather large white teddy bear behind the door, for fear of the wall being damaged after Dudley had barged in yet again, asking for money. Soon, Harry had added a pink and brown bear to his collection as well, and often found himself sitting against one of then and reading, either a book on cooking, gardening, or fantasy.

Life was simple, and he found peace in that. Sure, his family didn't like or love him, but he wasn't being emotionally or physically abused. He knew that he had it pretty easy compared to some the other kids in the world, and the ones he heard about on the news sometimes that made him stop and stare with sad green eyes. He wasn't allowed to watch TV, but for some reason, his aunt didn't cause too much of a fuss during moments like these.

Sure, he had a dangerously low amount of love and affection to go on, and he was about as touch-starved as they come, but he was allowed to be himself and live his life in color, specifically three of the them, and that was enough.

 **Harry** hummed softly to himself as he slid the spatula under the crepe and flipped it once before transferring it to the blue and white plate beside him on the counter. Behind him, the Dursleys sat at the table, each doing their own thing. Vernon was reading the newspaper and sipping at the mug of coffee had made for him in advance, all while grunting displeased at what he read.

Petunia was flipping through a magazine while absently stirring her green tea, eyes eagerly picking at outfits which she deemed ugly enenough to gossip about when she went out for her nail appointment, and Dudley was eyeing the plate of crepes intently, waiting hungrily for breakfast to be done.

Harry smiled and flipped the last crepe onto he plate with a flourish. He reached for the pre-prepped strawberries and powdered sugar, but, before he could even attempt to do anything with the two ingredients, there was a knock at the door and the tell-tale _Shhk_ of mail being pushed through a flap.

Dudley's whined when Harry made to get the mail, and he giggled, setting the plate, the powdered sugar, and the strawberry's on the table, as well as the plate full of fluffy eggs he had already made and a mound of bacon. Dudley and Vernon instantly dug in, Harry having already set aside a plate of crepes and eggs for himself and a separate one for aunt Petunia as well. Pleased, he went to the living room and picked up the mail, shuffling through it idly so he knew which ones to leave face down on the coffee table.

His idle shuffling grew to a complete stop as he came across a yellow envelope with a crimson wax stamp holding it shut. The letter was peculiar enough with the faded coloring and the red stamp, but the strangest thing, is that it was addressed to him.

Harry bit his lip, cursing his decesion to paint his nails earlier this morning before he had started on breakfast. The nail polish was dry, but he feared the movement that came with opening the letter would mess up the soft lavender coloring.

Sighing, he walked back into the kitchen to hand uncle Vernon his portion of mail before sitting down to eat. Once finished, he took up the dishes while the Dursleys left to carry out their own business for the day.

Petunia went upstairs to get dressed for her day out with a couple of the girls from her online book club, as they were going to meet up at the local café to discuss their newest read, a book Called Anthem.

Vernon grabbed his coat and an extra handful of bacon before making his way out the door to work.

Dudley went to his room where a brand new game for his PC sat waiting for him on his bed. He didn't have to go to school today, simply because he didn't want to, and Petunia and Vernon didn't quite care enough to argue with him.

After washing the dishes, Harry went upstairs to shower and change out of his pajamas and into his outfit of the day. He dropped by his room on the way there to grab his outfit and towel among other things before getting into the shower.

About twenty minutes later Harry emerged from the bathroom dressed in his pre planned outfit of the day which consisted of cotton blue jeans and a pink shirt with a bunny on it.

Happy with his appearance and read to face the day, Harry made his way over to his dresser and the unopened letter with and carried it with him over to his beanbag. He popped the wax seal carefully, wanting to keep the intricate design for personal reasons, as he felt it was honestly to beautiful to just casually break.

His eyes skimmed over the letter, widening more and more with each impossible word printed onto the slightly faded yellow parchment. He paused, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his thoughts drifted to his aunt and uncle, two strictly religious people who pride fb themselves on being a normal and freak free family. They tolerated his presence as best as they could, with muted glares and hissed words they thought he couldn't hear, but surely, this would bring them to their limit. With a strong conviction and slight twinge of guilt, Harry got up from his spot on his bean bag and pulled open a drawer on his desk, sparing the letter and it's companion one last glance before dropping it into the empty space and sliding it shut.

Harry didn't like to lie, but in this situation, it was necessary. He made his way to his closet where he kept his shoes and pulled on a pair of white vans distractedly, the beginning words of the letter still imbedded in his eyes and repeating themselves as if stuck in an infinite loop.


End file.
